Sometimes Carol rolled out of the bed, looked out of those wall sized windows that peered down on central Manhattan, and felt pretty guilty about it. She loved this view in the morning. The site of this marvelous city always gave her so much energy. The fact that she could stand there and be above it, was just peaceful and invigorating. It made Carol feel as if she were literally standing in heaven. Then she thought about who was not here to share it with her. It was enough to wipe away the smile.

That always left Carol grumpy by the time she reached her kitchen and began making coffee. She looked around it now and thought about how every modern convenience was at her beck and call. Even her coffee maker cost four figures in dollars and it was the cheapest thing in this room. She didn’t want any of it. She wanted her daughter back. She wanted John back with her too.

The simple fact was that, what Arthur called a heritage, Carol now thought of more as a curse. With a coffee cup in her hand, she turned on the television anyway. It was her job after all. Even so, it seemed like every news report that came out, now, was just another reminder of how trapped she was. Had Arthur figured out her plans?

Carol realized that maybe those plans had not been all that realistic in the first place but, Carol had to do something about it. Why did John not trust her? Maybe Carol had miscalculated? She had never anticipated what Reilly had done, how he had reconnected grandmother with granddaughter, under his control and care. Still, John did not trust her because of that? Had that been something else that Reilly had gambled on?

So far, nothing, that Carol had done, had gotten her anywhere. That was why she was grasping at straws, right now, and that one last ray of hope. Balfour had given it to her in Feyland. Her mother was alive? He knew who she was? Was Uncle Ian trying to give her a hint, or, was it just another trap? Carol had to figure out another excuse to get out of New York so that she could find out.

Speaking of traps, the news was still playing hers. Being a media specialist, Carol could easily look at news coverage and tell you when something had happened as opposed to other situations like, when the producers were gambling something might happen or, the all too common occurrence of nothing at all and the filler it produced on the twenty four hour news cycles. Right now, judging by the face of the reporter, Carol was betting that this was something. That was not such a good thing for her. She had a good idea of when this story should break and, right now, it was not time. Carol turned up the sound.

The reporter was standing in the dark and, it was obviously storming where he was. He was illuminated by some bright lights instead of using the night filters, and his voice showed that he had an air of concern about it, “US jets are buzzing, very low, over the water every twenty minutes or so. The approaching Iranian gunboats have not heeded the warnings to stay away. I am being told, on the ground, by Omani officials, that that those gunboats are headed right for the hijacked tanker ship.”

The guy at the anchor desk was not their usual face man. Carol looked up at the clock and saw how early it was. The morning crew would just be getting in right about now and the usual anchor people wouldn’t even be in for a few hours after that. She fully expected the morning show to pick up this report in the next half hour. They would slaughter it, as usual.

The present anchor was not quite as watch-able as the A list team but, you couldn’t have everything. He did a tolerable job though, “is there any word from the Iranian Government? What about the Omani sailors on the ship?”

After the delay, the reporter replied, “as you know, the Iranians are Shia while the Arabs are largely Sunni. The two sects don’t get along very well and are quite often rivals. Currently, the Sultan of Oman doesn’t even have diplomatic relations with the Iranian Government. So whatever the Iranians are doing, is known only to themselves.”

“Wait a minute,” the anchor said as the picture cut back to him sitting at his desk which was only a few blocks from where Carol was standing at this very moment. He had his finger in his ear as he said, “we’re being told that the news agency in Qatar, is broadcasting a taped message from the Ayatollah Muhammed Ach…”

Carol giggled. The guy couldn’t pronounce the name and he was literally saved by the bell. The technicians had switched the image over to a file photograph of some guy in a turban, reading at a microphone in front of an Iranian Flag. His name was written in English and Farsi just below the picture. He was speaking in Farsi and, in the background, it was being translated in a heavily accented, and slowly stated, English, “the demon dust will not reach the land. It is being removed from the ship as I am standing here. We will not allow it to corrupt the will of his almighty and…”

“What the fuck is going on,” Carol said with some alarm. She looked back to the clock again and already knew the answer before she did. The staff was not in yet and it would be another couple of hours before they were. Carol reached down for the remote just as the image on the screen changed once again. The reporter in Oman was back and this time he was being shown from much further back, at a far wider angle. You could see past him now, obviously somewhere over water in what was almost total darkness, except, for the huge fireball in the night sky. Carol put down her coffee, “oh shit.”

She did not even bother to turn the television off or even change out of her night clothes. Carol ran for the lift that sat just off her kitchen and it took her directly to her office that was three floors down. Carol stopped for a second as she waited for the door to open. She took the time to look out the window. A helicopter flew by. It was really low and going really fast. She snarled at it, “I’m going to report you for that!”

Once in her office, Carol was surprised by the sounds she was greeted with just as she stepped out of her lift. It was the tell tale signs of someone snoring. What did not surprise her was who the snores belonged too. As she angrily stomped by her couch, Carol kicked his boots off of her coffee table and that had the desired effect. Ian Dominique snarled to life and then groaned in pain as he nursed his head, “what was that for?” Carol stopped behind her desk, grabbed for yet another remote control and, this time, she jacked the volume up really high when she turned it on. Ian protested, “do you mind Carol? That bloody well hurts!”

“Ian!” Carol snapped in a squeal she hoped would penetrate his hangover, “if you find yourself unable to go home then I would suggest that you acquaint yourself with our two floors worth of guest rooms. That’s why we have them, you know!”

“Bloody hell,” Ian replied as he pushed himself up off the couch, obviously still blinded by alcohol, “calm down cousin. You’re making a…” Ian put his hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom.

Carol snarled, “you had better clean it up!”

The sounds of Ian in the bathroom mixed with those of the television that Carol was trying to concentrate on as the guy from the anchor desk was repeating over and over, “as you saw it, right here, live. It would appear that the Iranian Navy has fired on the hijacked British tanker in the Persian gulf, now a word from our sponsors as we try to bring you more of this unfolding story.”

Carol tuned out the commercials and mumbled, “Iranians my ass. That was the god damn…” Her eyes drifted to another set of video screens that were just behind the glass partition that separated her office from the cubicle that belonged to one of her security men. There was no one at the desk right now but, the monitors were normally left on. Usually, at this time of the morning, they flickered but, little else. Carol’s eye noted more than the usual amount of movement on them.

Still barefoot, still in her night gown, and with an open robe over that, Carol ran out of her office and too the monitors. Her concern suddenly turned to fear as she saw what was on all of those screens. Outside the building was a horde of black armored cars. At the doors, and even in some of the halls, a small army of men in black uniforms, loaded down like soldiers, were headed for stairwells and interior thoroughfares.

Carol was shaken when the first of three helicopters rattled the windows, climbing for what she could only suspect was the rooftop. The radio’s, all sitting on their chargers, began squealing with frantic calls of, “we have a breech! Sound the alarm! Call for reinforcements!”

The intruders uniforms had big white letters on them and Carol could easily make them out over the monitors, “FBI.” She gaped and huffed out, “oh my god. Oh my god!” She then grabbed for a radio and yelled into it, “all units. Hold your fire! Do NOT fire! Lock down access points on floors seven and fifteen! I say again, do not return fire!”

From the sounds echoing through the building, and sights on the monitor, Carol could see that no one heard her. She gulped and then picked up the phone. The outside lines were all dead but she still had the internals. She hit two digits and got the records room. She told the guy, “you know who this is? Good! Enact Lancelot, now!” The man hesitated so Carol repeated her order, “do it! Now!” She slammed down the phone and ran back in her office.

Ian was just stumbling out of the bathroom and was complaining, “enough is enough Carol! Would you please tell them to shut those jack hammers off! How did you get them..”

Carol grabbed him by the tie and drug him towards the lift. He was fighting and she slapped him for it. Then she shoved him in the lift, opened the special cabinet, and hit the big red button. Then she told Ian, “oh would you stop fucking whining like a little baby! We’ve got to get out of the building.”

He didn’t. Carol had other things to worry about at the moment though. She knew that besides the records room, the most important thing in this building was Ian and, after that, it was her. They couldn’t get caught and, if they did, Carol knew what would happen. The CIA would probably try and break them but, unless Carol missed her guess, Uncle Arthur would never let that happen. He had a way of being able to get to people and Carol knew that getting caught was as good as a death sentence for both her and Dominique.

The elevator stopped in a subbasement that had been sealed off from the rest of the building. Carol opened up the little locker that was about the only thing in the room. She took out a bag, removed the clothing, and then checked the contents to make sure it was all there. She listened to Ian whine the entire time. She did answer one of his questions though, “of course I’m not going out dressed like this!” She then tossed him a bundle of clothes and said, “put these on. They should fit.”

Ian was surprised by the logo on the front of the ugly shirt that was only saved by the fact that the pants were even worse. He was even more surprised by the fact that the shirt had an inside tag with his name on it. “What is all this? Where is it coming from?”

Carol pulled the pants up under her night gown and buttoned them. She kept her back to him when she slid off the rest of her clothes and put the shirt on. She then tossed on a ball cap and faced her cousin with fury, “change now Ian!” When she pulled the gun out of the bag she said, “or else!”

“I’m fucking changing daffy bitch!” He looked pretty squeamish about it and Carol could not believe her cousin. She supplied him with his women! How did that happen? When he was done she drug him down the tunnel that led to a locked door. Carol had the key and once they were on the other side, of it, their destination proved to be an underground parking deck. Carol closed the door behind her and Ian noted the sign on it that proclaimed it to be an NYC sewer service corridor. Ian had no idea what that was but, it sounded horrible enough.

Carol had some keys for a car that was parked at the end of the line of a like number of vehicles. She opened the trunk and pulled out some magnets that she slapped on the doors. She then put a little magnetic cone on top and bumper sticker on the trunk. Ian recognized the logos on all of them, “I know this place. It’s across the street. I got pizza there one time.”

As Carol opened up the drivers side door she said, “we are across the street you moron. We own that place. Now get in.” Ian did as instructed and Carol slowly drove up the ramp to the surface streets. She was holding her breath when she saw police cars going by in front of her. She also heard the sound of approaching fire trucks. Carol took a deep breath and edged the car out on the Manhattan street. She was not greeted by a phalanx of heavily armed agents so she let her breath out.

The car slowly rolled down the street, heading away from her business and home. Carol stopped the car when she felt it vibrate, heard the ear shattering clap of thunder, and saw the dust and debris cloud rolling up behind them. Ian was screaming as she began to accelerate away, “what the hell was that?!”

“The fourth floor,” Carol said as she kept checking for pursuit or anything else. She was starting to think they may have gotten away. Then again, as she reflected, that might just be the easy part. At least getting off of Manhattan proved to be very anti climactic. Carol figured that if she were trying to capture them then it would have been at one of the tunnels but, she saw no road blocks, no police, nothing at all. They made it all the way into Newark and stopped at a particular used car lot.

Carol got out of the car and Ian was right behind her, still complaining, “are you going to tell me what’s going on or not! I have a right to know.”

Carol turned and snarled, “I wasn’t in a particularly good mood when I woke up this morning. I wouldn’t push your luck Ian. Now do what I told you and get those damn magnets off the car, NOW!”

The only word of protest that Ian had was, “you stayed married to John for too long.”

She ignored him as she proceeded inside the office. She stepped up to the receptionist desk where a little chubby girl looked up from her phone and said, “did we order Pizza?”

“No ma’am,” Carol replied, “I need to speak to your manager please.”

“Uh,” the chubby girl hesitated and then picked up her desk phone, “did somebody back their order pizza… like, from England?”

A few moments later a burly looking man in a tacky tie came walking out from the back. Carol knew she was all right when she saw the surprised look on his face. He told the chubby girl, “yeah I ordered pizza. Come on back miss.” He led her too the general managers office. It was never used because there was no general manager. There was a safe in the back wall, however, and it was covered over by a cheap pin up board. The man took it down and then got excited as he held out his hand. Carol handed over a special key in her pocket and the man nearly wanted to dance, “hot damn! I was hoping this would happen on my shift!”

After the man used the key then Carol entered an eight digit code, that she knew from her memory, on the safe’s keypad. It opened after that and the sales guy began pulling out envelops and papers that he handed to her. As Carol checked it all to make sure it was there, the sales guy held up two lotto scratch cars and said, “what the hell is this?”

Carol knew what the guy was really saying, “where the hell is my money?” She told him without a moments concern, “they’re real and they’re worth every penny you were promised.”

The guy with the gruff voice skeptically asked, “how the hell would you know that, lady? They ain’t even scratched off.”

Carol was in no mood for this idiot, “why don’t you scratch them off and find out?” She went back to her work, sorted the new pass ports, visas, credit cards, and assorted business items and then tucked them away in one envelop. Then she finally paid attention to the car guy. He had obviously done as she suggested and his eyes were huge as he stared at the cards. Carol told him, “no one will question where you got your money now. So, one last bit of business. Carol took a sticky note off the desk and quickly scratched out a couple of numbers.

The car salesman took the sticky note and ran across the street to the dry cleaners. While Carol waited she stood by the front door and looked out on the busy street, filled with rush hour traffic. She realized, now, that she had time to think, that she was going to miss all of this. There was quite a lot about New York that she absolutely loved but, given what had just happened, she was sort of glad that Amanda wasn’t here.

That’s when it struck her, “oh my god.” If the Americans hit them here then there was always the probability that they would do so in a lot of places. What if they struck Anson Hall? Suddenly Carol knew exactly where she needed to escape too. She didn’t have long to get there either. She was not even sure she had enough time. A tear started to form in her eye as she said, “Amanda, I’m so sorry honey.”

“You all right ma’am,” said the chubby girl, still behind her desk.

Carol pushed back a tear, “I’m fine.”

“You look kind of upset you know,” the receptionist replied, “I was just wondering. Did you guys come from downtown? Everybody’s saying there was a terrorist bombing. Did you see it?”

“Uh,” Carol laughed it off despite the tears, “no. I’m afraid not. Too busy with orders you know.”

“From England?”

Carol nodded quickly and even winked at the girl. Fortunately the salesman returned with clothing rapped in plastic. She took them without so much as a word, and then walked back out to the lot. Carol handed Ian the clothing as she found their new ride. At least he was no longer screaming like a little girl when he said, “aren’t we going to get out of these rags and into,” he gestured to the bundled plastic, “something descent.”

Carol started up the car, “somewhere else. I don’t want anybody here to see what we’re wearing. That’s why the plastic.”

As they began to drive off Ian noted, “don’t tell me, we own the car lot and the dry cleaners.”

“Course we do,” Carol replied even if she was not really in the mood to talk.

Ian was apparently more than ready to talk, “I always imagined that you and Uncle Arthur had a flare for the dramatic. I never thought it would be anything like this. You don’t suppose we can grab a drink when we stop to change, do you?” Carol didn’t answer so Ian just stewed. Then he said, “where are we going now?”

Carol did answer that, “right now, Canada. We have to cross the border before they figure out we were not in there. Then, after that, home.”

Ian didn’t like the home part, “you do know there’s a war going on there now, right?”

Carol didn’t answer, nor did she care.